


colloquially

by ikmkr



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Late Night Conversations, POV Second Person, Post-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikmkr/pseuds/ikmkr
Summary: adverbin the language of ordinary or familiar conversation; informally.
Relationships: Kamukura Izuru & SHSL Impostor, Kamukura Izuru & Ultimate Imposter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	colloquially

absolutely, you think. they’re someone you can trust. 

you are both standing on the balcony. they are nursing a drink. you do not think you could stomach the stuff, but you are both adults, and this is moderation, so you do not protest their decision. casually, you are companions for this evening. 

the impostor is genial and warm in this setting, their large body filling the scenery with something safe. you have half a mind to ask them for a hug again, but you are unsure of the appropriateness of this request in this setting.

you must have appeared stiff, elbows on the balcony, slender back curved as you hunched over yourself, because they notice, and wave you over. you shamble over like the shell of a person you are, and they chuckle, mildly tipsy, and offer their warmth as a space for you to exist within. you settle for leaning on their shoulder.

 _reminds me of old times,_ they laugh. _not that old times are something to long for._

 _certainly,_ you remark privately. you cringe at your own politeness. you cannot fathom saying anything else.

the impostor sighs. they hold up their great hand, warning you; you nod and they pull you against them, not uncomfortably tight but still reassuring in its presence. it is not unpleasant but seems to accentuate your vulnerability, which you balk at until you are reminded of the fact that they have seen you at far more vulnerable, and retaining your privacy around your friend is pointless anyhow. 

you start.

_gishi, do-_

but you choke on your words, and the impostor gives you a strange look. you swallow your own vulnerability and it goes down like a tonic, and in your mind’s eye you are spluttering, gagging, regretting your own hesitation. you are gestures and inaction personified, business-like, inappropriately so.

the impostor raises an eyebrow at you. _are you alright?_ they ask, either fully unaware of your inner turmoil or humoring you for your own sake.

 _yes,_ you say, voice raw. _i am fine._

you are not fine. it is bullshit and you know it is, but you say nothing, lest they know of how you are marooned.

a singular bead of sweat rolls down your forehead, and your finger twitches on the balcony in a shaky way, and you assume they figure you out, because their gaze seems resolute, and half of a chuckle slips from their throat. you freeze up in their scrutiny, caught in a complicated deceit that you’d hoped you would not be caught in, but you were. 

they smile. of course they smile. why wouldn’t they smile. they are always so nice to you. you feel something warm on your hand and you realize the impostor has gripped your hand reassuringly. you cringe at yourself for appearing this lost. they do not care about this, though, and are still kind regardless of your failings.

 _kamukura,_ the impostor mutters, quietly. _no need to be so polite with me._

 _huh? what do you mean,_ you lie through your teeth like a cornered dog. _i am not being polite, i am just—_

 _shh._ they put their finger against your mouth. your brain screams at you to suck it, make it uncomfortable. you forcibly resist, shuddering violently. the impostor’s face contorts in concern, but you shake your head silently, long hair scattering across your face.

 _no need for masks,_ the impostor insists gently. _relax, if i dare suggest it. be casual with me. i respect you a lot, and i hope you know this._

respect is still foreign to you. the number of people you are certain respect you just barely exceeds the number of digits you can count off of. you feel yourself tear up and shake your head in resistance of this foreign feeling. you have certainly been afraid and sad before, but your seemingly inability to cry at your own discretion has remained. this is still frightening, new, uncharted territory. not now, you lecture yourself. cry later. maybe when you get home.

you sigh tiredly. _gishi,_ you murmur tentatively, _do you resent me? for. you know._ everything, you want to add, but it does not pass your lips.

the impostor looks shattered. their expression falls. they look hurt you even suggested it. it feels suddenly like a fist is turning your internal organs to mincemeat and you have swallowed six large stones, and you question if this is regret.

you backtrack, alarmed. _it is not unreasonable! i mean. i was deplorable, it is understandable—_

if anything, they look even more hurt. you have made it worse. good job, izuru. you have all of this talent and you cannot even bother to use it for anything good. like keeping your friends happy, for one. a plus social interaction skills.

you look down at your feet, ashamed, regretting even opening your mouth. wounded, and deeply hurt, you close in on yourself, arms hugging your body, knees closing in towards your chest. you can feel your blood and shame rushing in your ears, and you would particularly enjoy it if you were to vanish into nothing at this specific instant. 

_oh izuru,_ the impostor sighs, voice full of a private grief you cannot understand but can understand simultaneously. comprehend, not feel. _why would i hate you for any of that? you did not ask for any of that. why do you blame yourself so much for this?_

your lip trembles. you feel very childish, reacting so much to this. _i could have done something,_ you insist. _i had the resources, the ability, the talent—_

 _but talent isn’t everything and you know it. and it isn’t a fix-all either._ the impostor looks at you, their stern yet saddened gaze piercing straight through your defenses. _maybe if you were better prepared you might have been able to stop it. but you weren’t, izuru, none of us were and you know even you could not have fathomed what happened to you happening. and that’s ok. it was horrible and tragic and i don’t hate you for being a victim, just as i don’t hate nagito or mikan or hajime or any of the other remnants. and you shouldn’t be hated for it, either._

you make a noise that catches in your throat and curdles. they have slammed you with this, blunt and forceful, and although they told you to be more open you surmise this has been the most open they have been to you in a long time. you slump against them, body finally comfortable against their soft, eyes fluttering shut. your hands weakly grasp at their hair, looking for purchase.

 _hug,_ you whisper.

 _alright,_ they concede, and hold you safe against the wind, quite like back then. but it is over now, and the only thing left to shield you from are memories.


End file.
